Epilogue
by SmileyBoo
Summary: This is just the epilogue I envisioned that the Harry Potter series should have had, assuming that Harry died. Which he may or may not have in the actual books-I'm not about to spoil it for you. Oneshot.


It had been seven years since the Dark Lord had been defeated

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters, plotlines, etc. of Harry Potter. Duh.

Epilogue

It had been seven years since the Dark Lord had been defeated. Seven years since the seventh horcrux had been destroyed. Seven years since Ron and Hermione had lost their dearest friend. Seven years since the savior had succeeded, but given his life for victory. It was spring, and birds were chirping, flowers blooming…it didn't seem appropriate. Not for the anniversary of the most famous, and beloved wizard of all time. Not for Harry Potter.

Hermione had walked the grounds of Hogwarts a thousand times before; but this was different. On only seven previous occasions had she ever felt as defeated as she did on this day. On this, the date of Voldemort's final battle, all those in the wizarding world celebrated a timeless victory, and would mourn the deaths of the heroes that defeated him on the next. But not Ronald and Hermione Weasley. The latter insisted on punctuality, and the former, though generally inclined to argue, for this sole occasion, did not.

Hermione took a deep breath, preparing herself to once again visit the sight she never thought she would live to see. The young woman snuck a quick glance at her husband, who chose to spend an extra minute with his brother Fred, who had died on the same occasion. She had already paid her respects, tears cascading down her face as she spoke to the deceased. Who knew if he could hear her? Hermione herself wasn't even sure he did. But Ron was assured of it, and his wife was the last person in the world who would shatter the meaningful illusion. Hermione breathed again, inhaling the sweet smell of the flowers she had brought with her, and than braved the last few steps to her destination.

Cautiously, the witch neared the great mound of grass, greener than ever before. In fact, it was the exact shade of Harry's eyes. But, unlike him, the grass still lived to greet the sun in the morning, and the stars at night. Her friend didn't have that luxury. Sighing deeply, Hermione knelt down before the marble gravestone; white, for purity. She believed that was inaccurate. Harry Potter was not a child in her eyes, innocent and naïve like white suggested, but a man who was wise beyond his years, capable of more than anyone else on the planet, and shouldn't have been buried six feet below her. Teary-eyed, the young woman regained her composure enough to arrange the lilies she had brought on the ground above her brave friend's body, a symbol of the mother he barely knew. Hermione took comfort in the fact that Harry had probably rejoined her in death, unable to comprehend the pain he must have felt, an orphan at the age of one.

Her vision blurred, Hermione fingered the engraving, which, were it not for the anti-wear spell that had been placed on the slab, would have already been worn away from the millions of fingers that had touched it. The wizard's best friend read the message before her.

Harry James Potter

"Defender Of The Wizarding World

And Savior To Us All"

"He Will Be Sorely Missed"

That was it. It wasn't enough. Why wasn't something said for his kindness? For his loyalty? For his talent at Quidditch? His tombstone portrayed him as a fighter; but just that. Harry Potter was so much more. But no one would ever know. Most of Hogwarts never even took the time to get to know him, just believing everything they read about him in "The Daily Prophet", not to mention the rest of the world. The only thing the Ministry of Magic, who had commissioned the work, had gotten right was that he would be missed. Everyone that knew him was touched by his greatness, by his sincerity. Who could honestly say they had forgotten him? That a portion of each day wasn't spent remembering him? Hermione certainly couldn't. She loved him with every fiber of her being, and she knew the way his death gnawed at her soul would never cease.

"Hi, Harry." She whispered, breaking down into sobs, "You can't imagine how much I miss you."

Hermione felt her husband's strong arm reach around her, joining in her sobs.

"Yeah, mate. When you were here; I didn't have to deal with this one all alone!" Ron smiled, staring into his wife's hazel eyes. Typical Ron, always ruining the moment. The first time he had done it, Hermione was furious, and couldn't believe Harry's closest friend would have the nerve to laugh on the day they mourned him. But now; she accepted it. The witch knew, deep down, that Harry would have laughed. She heard someone else who did.

"Ha!" Gurgled the bundle in Ron's arms. Hermione sniffed, drying her tears, before joining in her daughter's innocent joy.

"There you go, love." Ron cooed, handing the chubby one-year-old to her mother. Hermione cradled the little girl in her arms, stroking her soft red ringlets.

"Lilly; you remember who this is?" The young mother questioned, pointing to Harry's name on the marble.

"Ha-wy Pa-tah" The little girl beamed, " Wike me! Ha-wiet!"

"Yes; Lilly Harriet. Just like you." Hermione smiled. "Harry, you remember Lilly, don't you?"

A soft breeze brushed passed the trio. "I knew you would." Hermione whispered.


End file.
